


The Green-Eyed Monster Contract

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dramatic Jaskier | Dandelion, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: It starts with a twist in the gut which Jaskier thinks is just a bit of bad stew, rather than due to his companion spending the night with a strange woman.  It must be coincidence that it worsens each time he sees Geralt speaking to strange women. He can't remember the last time he was sick, but it hadn't been like this.  His chest didn't feel like it was being crushed in a vice, and his stomach didn't burn.Unless it isn't a sickness but a curse.  That is the only answer.  Jaskier has been cursed...thankfully, he travels with a man accomplished at breaking such horrid things.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 193





	The Green-Eyed Monster Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier & jealousy was prompted by Rudbeckia over on Twitter. Thank you for the lovely idea! This was a lot of fun to write.

Jaskier’s fingers played the final chords of his most recent ballad, and he looked out at the audience with a smile. They were clapping enthusiastically which was much better than throwing food as they used to do. It was always pleasing when they appreciated his work, but more pleasing was the lack of bruises from stale bread and rotten fruit. His eyes moved over the crowd, searching out the subject of his tune. 

A frown stole over his lips as he found the darkest corner of the tavern, but rather than a lone brooding figure seated there, there was a pair. A young woman was seated at the table, leaning against Geralt’s side. Her ample breasts were practically spilling out of her dress right into his lap...perhaps not his lap exactly, but they were right there under his nose.

Geralt was sitting there just letting her fawn all over him. He wasn’t even growling at her or shoving her away. He didn’t even look annoyed!

Jaskier tore his gaze away from the cozy pair and turned back to his adoring audience. “How about one more?” he asked even though he didn’t really know what else to play for them. When they cheered him on, he began playing the opening chords of Toss a Coin out of habit. He refused to look back over at Geralt as he played.

There was a twist in his gut as he sang of Geralt’s good—if exaggerated—deeds, and Jaskier assumed it had to do with the suspect-looking stew he’d had for dinner. 

When Jaskier looked back into the corner, Geralt and the lass were missing. Jaskier made his apologies as he took his leave. He brought his lute up to the room they were to share, and Geralt was nowhere to be found.

Jaskier’s gut twisted again, and he headed for the privy. However, spending a significant amount of time trying to relieve himself in the presence of a man who had passed out drunk on the privy across from him did _not_ actually relieve the twist in his gut. 

Returning to his room, which he was supposed to share with Geralt, Jaskier once again found it empty. 

“Must be an enthusiastic maid,” Jaskier grumbled, settling down on the stiff cot with a mug of wine he’d brought up from the tavern. 

Jaskier sat there drinking as he wrote maudlin ballads about heroes being torn apart by sharp-clawed monsters pretending to be lovely women. It was a horrid tune, but it kept him distracted from his sore stomach. 

A nudge woke Jaskier.

“You fell asleep composing again. You’re going to regret it when your back starts to ache halfway to the next village,” Geralt said, nudging him again for good measure.

Jaskier blinked up at him. He looked freshly washed, and it rankled. Had his evening been so decadently carnal that he had to bathe before returning? Had he been absolutely drenched in her enthusiasm? 

Jaskier’s gut gave another twist, and he stumbled out of bed in nothing but his smallclothes and rushed to the chamber pot. 

Geralt watched him with mild concern as Jaskier just sat there, gut twisting angrily but nothing happening much as it had the night before. “Are you unwell?” he asked, when Jaskier just continued to sit there.

“I think the stew didn’t agree with me,” Jaskier told him, frowning at the continued ache. 

“I told you to stick to the dried meats.”

“Yes, well, forgive me for wanting to enjoy my meal rather than choke on it.”

“You enjoying it now?” Geralt asked wryly.

“Don’t you have a horse to brush or something?” Jaskier snapped.

“Roach is ready to leave when you are.”

Jaskier huffed, rising from the pot he was squatted over. Geralt handed him the trousers he’d cleaned upon their arrival without so much as a wrinkled nose. 

“Will you be well enough to walk?” Geralt asked, turning to gather their belongings which he packed together rather than in separate packs. 

“I won’t slow you down,” Jaskier retorted, suddenly worried that Geralt might decide they should part ways if he wasn’t up to traveling at Geralt’s usual pace.

“Mm.” Geralt grumbled something about that not being what he asked, but he kept it quiet enough that Jaskier knew it wasn’t actually for him to hear. 

Jaskier didn’t ask about Geralt’s evening. He wasn’t in the mood to pull details from Geralt. 

“Ride Roach,” Geralt said when they reached the stable.

“I’m fine, Geralt,” Jaskier insisted.

“You said as much already. Just get on the horse,” Geralt grumbled. 

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, but he got on the horse. The journey was much more pleasant on Roach. The gentle sway of her gait even lulled the pain in his stomach as Geralt walked beside them keeping a close eye on the pair of them. Jaskier could get used to this.

When they reached the next village—in record time because evidently Geralt’s legs never grew tired—they went their separate ways to attend to business. Jaskier wandered through the meager market looking for material to mend their worn clothes and food that might travel well. Geralt...well he did whatever it was he did to drum up business. He probably shook some bushes hoping a drowner would fall out right in front of a wealthy villager. Honestly, it was truly a miracle that Geralt hadn’t gone hungry before Jaskier found him.

They met up again at the tavern as they often did, not really intentionally, but that tended to be where their careers intersected. Jaskier was haggling over the cost of a warm meal when Geralt walked in and sat at a quiet table. The entire tavern grew quiet as the villagers watched Geralt find a seat. 

Soon whispers spread through the tavern, and Jaskier shook his head at the predictability. Annoyed by their lack of manners, Jaskier walked away from the maid he was haggling with and carried his lute to the open area near the back of the tavern.

“Perhaps I might interest you fine people in a song or two,” Jaskier said by way of greeting. A hush fell over the crowd again as they tried to figure him out, but Jaskier didn’t give them a chance to judge him harshly. He began playing the opening of "Toss a Coin," and soon enough he had the people singing along.

He caught Geralt rolling his eyes as Jaskier really hammed it up on the final chorus, getting everyone involved. However, he also caught the woman who approached Geralt and soon took a seat at his elbow. 

Jaskier frowned as she rested her hand on Geralt’s forearm, not removing it as she leaned in to speak to him. Jaskier felt a pressure in his chest as he watched them talk. He wondered if it was because he hadn’t eaten since that bit of bad stew. Or perhaps his illness was advancing. 

The set he played was messy, but the villagers didn’t seem to notice. They were particularly forgiving when Jaskier missed several notes as Geralt rose with the woman and exited the tavern. Jaskier moved his fingers before starting another tune, wondering if loss of dexterity was a symptom of his ailment. 

Geralt returned sooner this time, and he easily found Jaskier seated in the same spot Geralt had vacated earlier. He smelled of wildflowers. It would have been a pleasant scent if it hadn't turned his stomach.

“So nice of you to join me,” Jaskier told him.

“You’re drunk...it’s barely midday.”

“Am not!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I figured that since one of us was taking part in life’s pleasures, why not the both of us?”

Geralt gave him an odd look and took his beer from him and drained it himself. “I have a contract. I’ll be back when it’s over.”

Jaskier leaned toward him. “I’ll come with you! I haven’t joined you in a while.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Nonsense.”

“Jaskier. Stay.”

Jaskier squawked. “I am not some faithful dog that you can order around.”

Geralt snorted. “You are more an unruly stray that refuses to leave me be. Get a room, sleep off whatever is bothering you, and I’ll return for you when I’m finished.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to argue, but Geralt rose from his seat and walked away. If the room hadn’t been spinning, Jaskier would have followed him just to be contrary. However, he stayed put and watched all three of Geralt walk to the door where he met the woman again.

Suddenly, Jaskier’s stomach soured, and he staggered out the back of the tavern and relieved himself of the poison in his gut. 

“Perhaps it is a curse,” Jaskier mused as he sat in the mud. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been ill, and it certainly had been nothing like this. His gut twisted at the littlest thing, and his chest felt like someone was reaching inside of him and squeezing it tightly. And his _mood_.

Jaskier had never suffered from poor spirits, but he could hardly drag himself from the foul-smelling alley behind the tavern back to his seat for another round. 

It must be a curse. That is why alcohol wasn’t curing his spirits, and why Geralt hadn’t smelled the sickness on him.

“I’ll die, and he’ll not even notice. He’ll be too busy feeding his carnal hunger with every local lass who so much as glances at him twice. I’ll be suffering in indescribable pain while he tastes the sweet nectar of sin. Will he even miss me? If he does, at least he’ll have someone to comfort him.” Jaskier continued to mutter into his drink and the man who made the mistake of taking the open seat at his table.

“Sounds like a case of a broken heart,” the man told him when Jaskier outlined his symptoms. 

“A wretched curse,” Jaskier moaned, completely missing the man’s words.

* * *

“...sleepin’ it off. Passed out in his drink downstairs, so I had a few of the lads carry him up," an unfamiliar voice said.

“Mm.” 

Now, _that_ was a familiar hum, and it put Jaskier's fuzzy mind at ease.

“Was moanin’ about some curse, but you’d know more about that sorta business than me.”

“A curse?”

Jaskier blinked his eyes open, but immediately closed them again as his head began to pound and the room began to swim. He groaned as he clutched the sheets. 

“Seems like he had too much to drink to me,” Geralt’s voice said, and even in his current state, Jaskier could hear the wry amusement in his tone. The bastard. 

“I see you survived your contract. Surprised you even came back for me,” Jaskier moaned, rolling onto his side and gripping the bed, so he couldn’t be turned upside down when the room spun again.

“Mm.”

Jaskier’s eyes shot open as something cool and damp touched his brow. Geralt leaned over him, blocking out the morning light as he placed a cloth to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Are you ill or did you make yourself ill?” Geralt asked, keeping his voice low.

Jaskier opened his mouth to tell Geralt it was a bit of both, but he smelled something sweet and floral clinging to Geralt. He hadn’t been on a contract. He’d been with that woman again, and he’d lied about it. He lied to Jaskier...for a _woman_. 

Jaskier shoved Geralt away as the vice in his chest twisted painfully. It was hard to breathe as the room spun, and his body betrayed him. 

“I’m cursed, Geralt. Fuck... _gods_ , it’s crushing my heart,” Jaskier clutched at his chest, rolling onto his back.

Geralt appeared above him, frowning down at his prone form.

“Damn it, Geralt. Do something, or do you truly care so little for my company that you would watch me suffer a tragic end?”

“My medallion isn’t vibrating.”

“Who cares about your damn medallion? Can’t you tell I’m dying?”

“It senses magic...curses. You aren’t cursed, Jaskier.” He said it so calmly, like he truly believed there was nothing wrong with him. Perhaps he just didn’t care.

“I will pay you, Geralt. Is that what you need? Years of friendship, and yet it is still about payment?” Jaskier gasped. He felt the bile rising in his throat, and he held it in. He would not give Geralt the satisfaction of watching him bring up his own beating heart even if it would serve him right for being so wretched.

“No payment will cure a hangover, Jaskier.”

“It isn’t alcohol that’s killing me, Geralt. I’ve been cursed. I’m dying, and you won’t even help me.”

Geralt huffed. “How do you know you’ve been cursed? Did a mage do it? A sorceress? A jealous lover?” He crossed his arms, looking down at Jaskier with a frown. However, Jaskier was distracted by the way it brought attention to his pecs since he’d removed his heavy armor. 

“How should I know, Geralt? You must admit that the possibilities are rather endless.” 

“Mm, and what are you experiencing...other than the ill-effects of too much ale?”

Jaskier groaned. “My stomach. It twists and burns. My chest feels as though someone has reached inside and grips my heart. My mind...my spirits are diminished. Do you think this is the end? Am I truly dying?"

Geralt grunted, narrowing his eyes at Jaskier like he was trying to figure out something particularly complicated. 

“It is that bad, isn’t it? You don’t need to spare me, Geralt. You can tell me the truth.”

“I’m going to go get the herbalist.”

“An herbalist? Will they have a cure?”

“We’ll see. Stay put.” Geralt left before Jaskier could say another word.

“Geralt don’t take long. I’m not sure how much time I have left,” Jaskier groaned, pressing his face against the meager bedding.

Geralt didn’t take long at all. In fact, Jaskier barely had enough time to come up with how he would like to be buried and memorialized when Geralt walked back into the room with a very familiar woman at his side.

The herbalist, if that is what she truly was, was none other than the woman Geralt had been with the day before.

“Oh gods! It’s here. She did this to me,” Jaskier accused as his gut twisted.

“Mm.”

“Don’t grunt at me, Geralt! Can’t you see, she has you under her spell. That is probably why your medallion isn’t working. Geralt, come back to me. Don’t let her wrap her talons around you,” Jaskier pleaded, falling off the cot and grabbing for Geralt.

Geralt caught him and held him steady as he looked at the woman with an unreadable expression. “Any ideas?” he asked her, ignoring Jaskier’s tirade.

“You said his gut twists and burns, and his chest feels tight, and he has low spirits, yes?” she asked, looking at Jaskier with pity. 

“ _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier moaned, gripping at him like he could break the curse with his touch.

“Can you help him?” Geralt asked.

“I believe it is beyond my expertise,” she said, crossing her arms. 

“Don’t listen to her lies, Geralt!”

“I’ve heard with these things that a kiss is often the answer,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“I will not!” Jaskier squawked, looking affronted at the very thought of kissing her.

“I wasn’t suggesting myself.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt with wide eyes, and his stomach flipped uncomfortably. Geralt looked back at him levelly, leaning in and kissing him before anything could be said to ruin the moment.

Sparks ran down Jaskier’s spine, and warmth blossomed in Jaskier’s belly supplanting the harsh burn. The vice in his chest seemed to loosen, and he felt like he could breathe for the first time in days.

Jaskier sighed as Geralt pulled back, looking up at his companion with wide eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Geralt asked, rubbing his arm.

“Like a new man. Was it truly that easy? What was wrong with me?” Jaskier asked, blinking up at him even as he learned closer into Geralt’s embrace.

Geralt snorted. “Should you tell him or should I?” he asked the woman.

“I wouldn’t take such a prize from you.”

“What prize?”

“You suffered from a great curse. One born of a green eyed demon which bore into your chest.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened at the woman’s words. “Truly? Geralt, I’m lucky to be alive. You should probably kiss me again just to make sure that the demon is gone!”

“Jaskier...you were suffering from jealousy.”

“Wait, what?” Jaskier blinked at them.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You were jealous of the woman in the last village who sat with me and asked me to rid her garden of a nekker infestation. And again when I did business with Prunella,” Geralt tipped his head in the direction of the herbalist.

“I was not! Geralt, I have not been jealous a day in my life! I’ll have you know that I incite jealousy, not suffer from it.”

“Mm.”

“Take that back! I was not jealous.”

“And how are you feeling now?”

“That is beside the point. It was a curse, Geralt. A vicious curse that would have killed me.”

“A curse that made you reek of jealousy?”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Keep your mutant nose to yourself. I don’t go sniffing you after a contract…”

“Actually, you frequently comment—”

“I was not jealous!”

“You said that.”

“I’ll leave you both to work this out,” Prunella said.

“Not a word of this,” Jaskier told her.

She laughed, walking out of the room without a promise.

“This is worse than a curse,” Jaskier moaned when it was just the two of them.

Geralt grunted, manhandling him over to the cot and depositing him onto it again. Geralt soon joined him once he’d removed his boots.

“Jealous...I...how wretched.”

“Mm.”

“Is there a cure, Geralt? Can I drink a potion and no longer feel such silly emotions?”

“You know there isn’t.”

“I suspected. Have you ever been jealous?”

“Not in nearly half a century. It’s not easy to be jealous when you’ve stopped wanting for yourself.”

“I suppose that would be true,” Jaskier leaned into him.

“She had a nekker infestation?”

Geralt chuckled. “A rather bad one. I was covered in guts, so she offered me a bath since she didn’t have enough to pay in full.”

“Oh, that was why you were clean…”

“Mm.”

“And the herbalist?”

“Strictly business. I needed herbs for a contract, and I didn’t wish to waste time searching for them.”

“Which is why you smelled of wildflowers. This is dreadful.”

“That I haven’t been sleeping with every woman we come across?”

“That my vibrant imagination has betrayed me.”

Geralt smiled. “I don’t know. Your song about the vile demoness was some of your best work.”

“I sang it for you?”

“Twice.”

Jaskier threw himself down dramatically and covered his eyes. “I’ve changed my mind, Geralt. Kill me. Make it swift.”

Geralt grunted, leaning over him. However, instead of ending him, he pressed another kiss to Jaskier’s lips. It was soft and undemanding, but Jaskier melted into it. 

“What was that for?”

“I figured kissing you is less trouble than killing you.”

“Oh, yes...well, perhaps you would do that again, just to be safe.”

“Mm.” Geralt did kiss him again, and then he laid down beside him and pulled him to his chest.

“Do you have a cure for my aching skull?”

“Mm, but it would kill you.”

“Right. Well then, could you massage my temples between kisses?” 

Jaskier didn’t have to open his eyes to picture Geralt’s eye roll, but sure enough his fingers began to massage Jaskier’s temples.

“Perhaps jealousy isn’t so bad. It got you to let me ride Roach after all.”

Geralt grunted, but he didn’t stop touching him. Not bad at all.


End file.
